


maybe i could stay awhile (i'm talking about all the time)

by hemakeshimstrongx



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Enemies to Lovers, Green Bay Packers, Home, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Louis Tomlinson Has a Crush on Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson is a Little Shit, M/M, The Late Late Show, carpool karaoke, even if he doesn't know it yet ;), idk what else to tag this is such shit, kinda just stop the friends part i think, mutual hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemakeshimstrongx/pseuds/hemakeshimstrongx
Summary: harry styles begins his week-long residency at the late late show. louis tomlinson is james corden's assistant. harry styles is a popstar. louis tomlinson doesn't like popstars. they're bound to fall.





	maybe i could stay awhile (i'm talking about all the time)

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! have a canon au tweaked only slightly based off of harry's week at the late late show. here u go. don't look at me.
> 
> this is based off a tumblr prompt that i don't know how to include a link to?

“The only reason I’m here is because you were friends with my mum. That’s _sad.”_ Louis says, propping his feet up on James’ desk and sucking on his lollipop. He’s been here for over a year, all thanks to his overzealous mother. She likes getting involved in her son’s life.   
“It’s for that same reason I haven’t fired you yet,” James replies, laughing. “All in the name of Johannah Deakin, have to honor her somehow, don’t we?”

“Please. You love me! You’re not just keeping me around because my mum asked you to!” Louis exclaims.

“I do, but I don’t love having your feet on my desk. Did you send that email to Angelina Jolie’s team? I’d really love to have her do karaoke.”

“Yes, and I booked a slot for us at the club Thursday, which I still think is a completely dumb idea.”

“You absolutely _love_ when I do this, don’t you? Don’t complain that I’m just looking for a reason to get Ewan McGregor to come clubbing. Because _you_ get free booze. And it’s not like we don’t have a reason, it’s for Harry.”  

Louis does appreciate that free booze. He would be nothing if he couldn’t get smashed, completely on James and Julia. James being good friends with Louis’ mother really makes it easier for Louis. He moved to LA with nothing, just James Corden’s phone number as given by his mother. James has helped Louis immensely.

“So. Who’s up next week? On the show, I mean. I have yet to see the schedule,” Louis muses, reaching forward and taking the handwritten planner from James’ desk and looking it over. “Damn, too bad you don’t have an assistant to make this digital for you or something.”

“You’d rather stab your own two eyes out than transfer events from one place to another.” James laughs, shaking his head.  “But we’ve got a good friend of mine coming on, he’ll be on for a week straight.”

“Wow, he’s gotta be pretty damn special. To get a week straight of shows- Harry Styles? The boyband kid?”

“He’s a bit more than just the boyband kid, Louis, and he’s proving that the second his album drops.”

Louis rolls his eyes, dropping the planner back on the desk. “Really never cared for any member of that band. Or their solo stuff.”

“You’re a d-bag sometimes, you know?” James asks, and Louis shrugs. “You’ve got to be nice to him, you hear me? He’s a great kid.”

Louis has a bit of trouble being nice to people that he doesn’t really like. He doesn’t like the music Harry Styles made in his boyband, and he can’t say he’s heard Harry Styles’ new song, but he’s not exactly in a rush to hear it anyways. “Yes, father. What else do you need me to do today?” he asks, standing up again.

“Send an email to Harry from you? You’ll be working closely with him while he’s on with us, so it’d be great if you could get acquainted.”

“You’re doing that to me on purpose,” Louis deadpans, already beginning to sulk a bit.

James looks up at him, grinning. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Email him, and be nice.” He takes a post-it note and quickly jots down an email address before handing it to Louis.

********

Louis Tomlinson doesn’t start composing his email until after he’s working on his third beer and it’s after nine. He should be out on a Friday night, but Stan’s been away all weekend with his girlfriend and Louis doesn’t have very many other friends in LA. Starting to work for the Late Late Show the second he landed at LAX never really gave Louis the opportunity to make many friends. And he doesn’t like going out by himself, it makes him feel a bit lonely and sad, even if he does meet a few people. He never manages to stay in contact with those people because he always ends up forgetting who the hell they even are come the morning.

So, he drinks his third beer while a Walking Dead marathon works through on the

TV and starts penning an email to Harry Styles. [ _Peachesx94@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Peachesx94@gmail.com) _._ He types and deletes and takes a ton of breaks, but eventually gets an email that is sufficient. It’s not overly nice but it’s also not rude, it doesn’t give away too much personal information, and it doesn’t give any hint that Louis doesn’t know the first thing about Harry Styles.

“ _My name is Louis Tomlinson, I'm James Corden’s assistant over at the Late Late Show. James brought it to my attention today that you’d be coming on the show next week for not just one show, but four. That’s sick mate, congrats, it must be incredibly nerve-wracking. James also let me know that I’d be working closely with you while you’re on the show, and I should get to know you prior to your arrival on set come Monday morning. You should get to know me a bit as well, since I’m sure you don’t like being thrown into situations without knowing what you’re getting into (I get it, I’m the same way)._

_I’m twenty five, I moved to LA on a whim over a year ago and have been working with Late Late ever since I got here. I’m an avid fan of The Walking Dead, as well as The Blacklist and Breaking Bad. I’m the eldest of seven children, all of them raised wonderfully well and living back home in England. I’d like to have my own TV show or something one day, or at least own something of my own so that I can make something for myself and help other people make something of themselves. Then I know that my impulsive move to LA wasn’t totally wasted, haha._

_I’m not really sure what else to tell you, so I’ll just stop writing now and send this as impulsively as I do everything else :)_

_Harry Styles, I will see you on Monday.”_

He reads the entire thing aloud to himself because that’s the one and only way you’re ever going to catch any errors. Then he clicks send and goes back to his Walking Dead marathon. Just as an awesome, gut-spilling, zombie-killing scene is about to happen, Louis’ computer dings with an incoming email. Harry Styles already answered.

_Hi, Louis! Thanks so much for taking the time to email me. I would really like to get to know you, James is a very smart man haha. I can tell you a bit about myself as well, I suppose, maybe that will inspire you to think of more things to tell me about you :)_

_I’m twenty three, formerly in One Direction with my mates Liam, Niall, and Zayn, but we’re all kind of happy to be doing solo stuff now, so it’s cool! I only have one sister but even that was hell, so I don’t know how you deal with six siblings!!! I don’t watch The Blacklist, but I have heard good things about it. Watched Breaking Bad, and as for The Walking Dead, I’ve got the marathon on right now so I can catch up before they premiere on Sunday! If you are as avid a fan as you say you are, I’d assume you’re watching now too. As for my future goals, I’m kind of just riding the wave and seeing where I end up._

_Thanks again for contacting me, see you Monday!_

Louis reads the email twice, can’t believe _this_ is world-famous boybander Harry Styles. He uses exclamation points and smiley faces and hasn’t seen the Blacklist, but is watching The Walking Dead right now as they email. Louis opens to reply immediately.

_Dealing with four sisters was actually hell on earth. I wanted to rip my own head off most of the time. Or their heads, I could never quite decide. You are correct in assuming that I’m watching the walking dead right now, and as for your Blacklist problem, we might have to set up a bit of a binge watch session for you sometime this week. I'm not sure when or how, but as James’ assistant/your caterer, I’m going to make it happen. ;) :)_

Louis’ computer pings again just a few minutes later, this time not with an email, but with the private message tool on his Gmail. Harry Styles private messaged him. Daisy and Phoebe would flip _shit._

PEACHES: _don’t think you’re my caterer!! I don’t want one… I hope it’s okay I messaged you here instead of emailing._

TOMMO: _i actually hate email chains, believe it or not. i’d rather use this instead, honestly it’s fine. xx_

PEACHES: _okay, good. anyways, back to the caterer thing. don’t feel like you have to wait on me hand and foot, because I’m sure James is acting like you do._

He’s right about that. Louis decides to wait a minute before replying. This is half due to the fact that he desperately wants ( _needs)_ to finish his beer and there’s a key scene taking place on The Walking Dead. Once it goes to commercial and his beer is gone, Louis types up a reply.

TOMMO: _why’s your name peaches on here? Was kind of surprised to see a popstar like you with a user like that._

Harry’s reply is almost instantaneous. _Nobody thinks of looking for my personal email with such a dumb user. and I like peaches, got a problem with that?_ He sends it with an angry face emoji and Louis literally can’t believe this. He replies that there’s nothing wrong with peaches, and that the name is actually quite alright.

PEACHES: _I can’t wait to meet you on monday, Louis, you seem really cool :) I eagerly await working alongside you for the next week._

Louis thinks for a moment before formulating a proper response. _Same for me, pop star. until monday, harry styles._

Harry doesn't reply, so Louis closes his laptop and turns his full attention to the show in front of him. He would be lying if he said he didn’t fall asleep on the couch with his beer bottle on the table and The Walking Dead still playing.

 

When Louis wakes up again, it’s to rapid gunfire on the TV and his cellphone ringing. He doesn’t open his eyes, just reaches blindly and prays it’s not James calling him. “Hullo?” he mumbles, sitting up and knocking the empty beer bottle over in the process.

“Good morning Louis!” One of his little sisters, he can’t tell quite yet, it’s one of the twins but guessing which one it is over the phone is always a nightmare.

“Morning… Pheebs?” he poses it as a question without entirely meaning to. There’s a fifty-fifty shot that he’s right. Those are pretty damn good odds.

“Yup, it’s me!” she says cheerily. “I heard you have Harry from One Direction coming on the show next week. For the whole week!”

“Mhm, he is.”

“Have you met him yet?”

“No, not yet,” Louis tells her, standing up and bringing the bottle to the kitchen, and dropping it in the bin. “I was emailing a bit with him last night, but only because James asked me to. You know I don’t really care for him, Pea.”

“Do you… could you try to get his signature or something? Or snapchat me a selfie? Because none of my friends will believe that you’re with him.” Phoebe is extremely excited, more excited than Louis has ever heard her, he thinks.

That’s good though, Phoebe’s excitement is good because she deserves it. They all deserve the excitement, something to be happy over. The last year was impossibly hard for the Tomlinson-Deakin clan, they had to watch their mother slowly fade away until they finally lost her in December. It’s only a few months later and the girls all deserve something to get excited over.

“Yeah, Phoebe. I’ll try to get something, don’t you worry. When are you guys gonna come and see me out here?”

“Once we go on holiday! Dan was already talking about it with Tommy and Lottie. Do you have enough room for all of us?”

“I sure do hope so, Pheebs. Listen, I gotta go, okay? I have Harry Styles coming on Monday so I have to make sure everything gets done in time. A very high maintenance pop star, I’m sure you know.”

Phoebe groans. “He’s not high maintenance! He’s actually so sweet, Lou. Please don't forget about the picture thing!”

“I won't, love, don't worry.”

Once the call ends, Louis checks his emails, thinking that Harry Styles might have messaged him with a question or a request or whatever it may be. There’s nothing new there. He has eleven missed texts - two from Stan, seven between each of his sisters, and two from James. Louis sees what those are about first, because James is his boss and Louis should get on it immediately. He’s a good assistant when he wants to be.

_need you to get something for me, assistant !_

_alright, when you see these, pick up some kiwis!!_

Louis stares at the text in awe. Kiwis. Not some weird french wine, or a playlist of purely nineties hip-hop, not a female escort or _anything_ Louis would have expected – welcomed – before _kiwis._ He shakes his head, texting James: “ _the fruit, right? not the bird? ahaha”_. James replies with the unimpressed emoji and clarifies yes, the fruit.

He sets a reminder in his phone for Sunday so he remembers to go buy fucking kiwis before Harry Styles arrives on set Monday morning.

  ********

Louis pulls up to the Late Late Show studio at 8:57, much earlier than James told him he had to be. But Louis has kiwis to put in the dressing room of Harry Styles, and Louis would like to do that before Harry Styles actually arrives. After lingering in the car for a moment, Louis finally gets out and heads for the door.

He’s shocked when the door is very hard to get to, due to the overwhelming number of young women hanging around outside. There’s some soft rock playing from one of their speakers and they’re all singing and talking and laughing like they’re best friends, even though they probably just met. Louis gets inside easily; they want nothing to do with him, only Harry Styles.

With his phone in one hand and a bag of kiwis in the other, Louis heads to the dressing room belonging to the pop star. He walks right in, assuming that the singer wouldn’t be here until later. Except. There is someone, Harry Styles, standing in the middle of the dressing room by himself, shirtless and staring down at his phone.

“Shit. Sorry, mate,” Louis curses, going to leave again because he just walked in on world famous singer Harry Styles in the midst of changing. Boundaries.

“No, it’s fine,” Harry says, not even looking up from his phone.

“Well I, uh, have some kiwis for you? Corden asked me to pick them up and here they are. Unfortunately, I don’t know shit about preparing and eating kiwis, so--”

Harry cuts him off, finally looking up. “Oh! You’re Louis! James told me you’d be bringing kiwis.” Harry drops his phone and comes over to Louis, all lanky and tattooed, and takes the bag. “I’m Harry Styles,” he says properly, extending a hand.

Louis gives him a funny look, but takes his hand nonetheless. “Louis Tomlinson. James Corden’s assistant.”

“Yeah, James told me about you. And we emailed.”

“I’m sure he said I was funny and devilishly handsome,” Louis deadpans, looking around the dressing room. There’s candles strategically placed about the room; the smell hits Louis as soon as he notices the candles.

Harry laughs, putting the bag down on the little coffee table and picking up his phone again. “He actually said you were tiny and quite angry, but I’ll accept your description as well. Sorry, I’m just finally catching up on Green Bay’s moves for this year. I haven’t been able to check on the team at all.”

“American football?” Louis muses. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“Massive,” Harry says, monotone as he reads something on his phone. Louis hardly has a clue as to what football-related things Harry could be looking at. Louis only knows that the draft was a few weeks ago, and that he hates the Dallas Cowboys. “Do you watch?” Harry asks, putting his phone down again.

“Not really… More of a proper footie person. Do you need anything? I’m your waiter for the next few days, so you can get used to having me around.”

“Could get your opinion on an outfit?” Harry heads over to the clothing rack and holds up a dark patterned tux. Louis scoffs and comes over to the rack to look himself. “Oh, I _like_ this! Wanted to wear it tonight.”

“Really? You want to wear this?” Louis asks, not even caring if Harry can hear the disapproval in his voice. “ _Okaay,_ you’re the talent here, I guess. Hideous outfit coming right up, Harry Styles.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he looks a bit disappointed. “James did also say that you were honest.”

“I support the suit on you, I suppose. Just not what I would have picked,” Louis shrugs. “You’re on for rehearsals in like fifteen, I’ll wait outside until you’re ready to be brought where you need to be.”

Harry just nods curtly, and Louis gets the message to get the hell out. He didn’t like the bloody pants, is that a crime? Louis leans against the wall outside Harry’s dressing room and scrolls through his Twitter feed for a while before he gets bored. Harry Styles is taking quite a long time.

He steps forward and raps on the door. “You coming, popstar? Got a whole studio waiting on you, mate.”

Harry swings the door open, holding the suit Louis had just talked down in his arms. He hangs it on the rack, making sure that Louis is watching, and keeps his head held high. “Do you need to put me on a leash, or…”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Well, that’s up to you I suppose, Harry Styles. If you’re into it…”

“You’re repulsive.” Harry spits. “I’ll find my way to the stage by myself, thanks very much.”

“Ah, sorry kid, can’t let you. See, I have to babysit you, it’s my job. James told me so, and he’s my boss. Corden is my boss and was good friends with my mum and I’ve got to listen to him. I- listen, can we walk and talk? We’re on a schedule.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but follows Louis down the hallway. Louis continues, “Look, I don’t like you and you clearly don’t like me. But we both have to be here and deal with each other, so we should at least _try_ to be civil, wouldn’t you say? It’ll make it easier on both of us and Corden.”

“Yeah, you just look out for yourself. Thanks again, Louis. I’ll see you the next time you’ve got to babysit me, yeah?” Harry dismisses Louis quickly and in a not-very-nice manner. Louis hates popstars.

  ********

“Do you want to tell me why Harry came into my office after we wrapped up last night asking me to reassign you or fire you or just get you away?” James is looking at Louis pointedly, and Louis knows he’s about to get a lecture. He’s good at knowing when he’s about to get in some kind of trouble because it happens to him a lot, it happened in school and with his mum and even now with James. Louis gets lectured a lot. James Corden is about to lecture him.

“I wasn’t aware we had a problem,” Louis says honestly, even though it’s not entirely honest. There was some tension and differences between the two, but Louis didn’t think it was anything that serious. They just seem to be… different people.

“Well, we do. I’m obviously not firing you because then I’d have to find a new assistant and I’d also be completely disobeying what your mother told me, but I am warning you.”

Louis attempts to not let his sarcasm take over completely. “Oh?”

“ _Oh_. You need to be nice to Harry Styles, Louis. I don’t care what you think about him. I know I won’t be able to convince you that he’s not the bubblegum pop you think he is, I don’t know how to make you like him. You’ll be a dick no matter how much time you spend with him but I’d still like you to spend time with him. You’re my assistant and Harry’s a good friend of mine and I want him to have the best treatment and I’ve trusted you with that. Can I trust you to continue civilly?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t want to lose this job, so…”

“Good. Play nice with him. Bring him to lunch today.”

“You want me to go out in public? With Harry Styles?” Louis pitches both eyebrows upward in shock. That can’t be a good idea. Harry will immediately be spotted and they’ll get mobbed at Louis’ favorite lunch spot.

“He’s very good at flying under the radar, Louis, you’ll be fine.”

So, Louis finds himself trekking back to find Harry Styles. He’s a floater and a social butterfly, it didn’t take Louis long to figure that out about him. All day on Monday Harry was talking to _everyone_ , and the same is happening today. He introduces himself to every crew member and every little girl brought by her daddy to work and literally anyone else.

Louis finds Harry off by himself, for once, looking down at his phone screen. “Checking more football shit?” Louis asks, sliding up next to him.

Harry rolls his eyes immediately upon seeing Louis standing there. He doesn’t say anything, leaving Louis to fill in the gaps of the conversation. “I’m gonna assume yes, you’re checking football shit. And I’m gonna tell you that I’m actually quite excited for football season in the fall, because it kind of brings everyone together here at Late.”

Harry just hums in reply, still hardly paying any attention to Louis and what he’s saying. “I’d like for you to come to lunch with me. Preferably, like, now, but I can wait a bit if you’re not ready.”

“Lunch. Where do you want to go to lunch?”

“Well, I usually go to the same place. It’s walking distance, don’t worry. We can go out the back door here and make the walk even shorter. I mean, you can come or not come but it’ll make James happy if you do, so…”

Harry sighs, frustrated. “I will come with you to get lunch. I guess.”

Louis takes the win and tells Harry where they’re going is a surprise, but to meet him at the back entrance in five minutes. Louis goes to the same lunch spot nearly every day for pretty much the same meal every day. It’s probably not very healthy, but he does it regardless because who the fuck really cares? Not Louis.

Harry Styles comes to Louis with his phone and wallet and not a trace of any security team member. “You don’t want-”

“Nope. They’ll tail me, always do, and they think I don’t notice, but I’d rather do things on my own. It’s fine.” Harry answers Louis’ question before he even gets to finish asking. “Are we going, or what?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

While they’re crossing the street, Harry asks where they’re going. “It’s a surprise. I can’t disclose that information to you just yet, so… It’s literally a two minute walk. I can see it from here. We’re almost there. We could’ve driven, or you could’ve, or something, I don’t know. Look, I think this is just as dumb as you think it is.”

“Yeah, you got that right.”

“Well, this is it. Blaze. My all-time favorite pizza place. Except the pizza my mum made back home, but this is a close second,” Louis admits, feeling just the slightest twinge in his heart when he brings up his mother.

“Pizza,” Harry deadpans. “You took me to a pizza place.”

“It’s not like it’s a date, popstar. I take my dates to much fancier places, thank you very much.”

“M’not a popstar, would you quit that?”

“Sorry, popstar,” Louis winks, holding the door open for Harry.

Paying for his meat lovers’ pizza slice with added jalapenos and Harry’s kale and quinoa salad is entertaining when the cashier recognizes him and asks him to sign a napkin and offers to give Harry the meal on the house. They sit at the table in the corner, where Louis always sits, and don't say anything for a moment.

Louis’ only ever taken one other person out to lunch with him to Blaze, and that person was his mother. The restaurant is very near and dear to his heart; they have some of the best pizza he’s ever had, this is where he ate his first meal when he came to LA to meet James Corden, and he’s also met a Tinder hookup outside of here. That wasn’t one of Louis’ shining moments, he admits.

“I can’t believe you came here and got a fucking quinoa salad,” Louis remarks.

“You got jalapenos on your meat lovers’ pizza _and_ paid extra for them. As if that’s not ten times worse than a salad.” Harry says, not missing a beat between Louis’ criticism and his formulated reply, almost as if he’d been thinking about it. “My salad is actually good and I’m fine with it. D’you wanna try it?”

Harry extends a forkful of leafy greens towards Louis, looking at him expectantly. Louis sighs. “Only if you take a bite of this,” he says, looking at the pizza slice on his plate.

Harry looks at the slice like it’s the most disgusting slice of pizza he’s ever seen. Then he hands Louis his fork, picks up the pizza, and takes a bite. Louis watches as Harry eats, strongly considering the bite before putting the piece back down on Louis’ plate. “I don’t like jalapeños. Eat the salad now.”

Louis does what Harry says. He chews, considering the taste the same way Harry considered the pizza. “I don’t like kale,” he says decidedly.

“I think it just has a bad rep. People don’t… _kale_ enough to try it,” Harry can hardly  

get through the sentence without breaking out into a massive grin.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Oh my God, that was so bad. That was awful. Almost, _almost_ as awful as the salad you just made me take a bite of.”

“What, you’re not a fan of puns?”

“Can’t say I am, Styles. I’m kind of surprised you are, if I’m being honest.” Louis admits. Harry looks at him quizzically. “You just seem… stoic. I don’t know.”

Harry nods slowly, looking down at his salad. “I think there’s more to me than you think there is, Louis Tomlinson,” he says softly.

“Well then there’s more to me as well, popstar.”

 

Harry Styles sings a song called _Carolina,_ and pre-records his performance for tomorrow - a song called _Two Ghosts._ for the show and immediately after it’s over and they determine the take is good, he looks to Louis. James had grilled Louis on the lunch outing, especially when he saw a sneakily fan taken picture on Twitter just moments after they’d arrived at Blaze.

“You didn’t get swamped, did you?” James had asked, looking at Louis carefully.

“No,” Louis replied. “It… wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, I suppose.”

James broke out into this huge grin after Louis said that and Louis left without discussing the topic any further.

When Harry looks to Louis after finishing up the performance, he doesn’t even smile, they just make eye contact and then look away.

After that, Louis goes into Harry’s dressing room and takes the hairsprays from the table and the small bowl of kiwis. Because fuck kiwis, that’s why.

  ********

“I don’t know what kind of sick mind games you’re playing by taking all my fucking stuff while thinking I don’t realize, but it’s getting really old. I know you’re taking my shit, Louis.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry Styles,” Louis says simply, propping his feet up on the seat in front of him. Today is Wednesday, and he’s enjoying a Caesar salad from Blaze while sitting in the second row of the audience section. Harry Styles is choosing to sit next to him and bother him during his very short and sometimes nonexistent lunch break.

“Louis. You’re wearing my sweatshirt!” Harry exclaims.

“Oh, this is yours? I got cold, just grabbed the one that was nearest to me. Oops.”

“I’m the only fucking Green Bay fan in this building, I think, who else’s sweatshirt would that be?”

Louis knows full well that this is Harry’s sweatshirt. Since yesterday evening Louis’ managed to take several things, including this sweatshirt. He’s only doing it to be annoying, and apparently Harry’s finally caught on. Or he’s finally deciding to do something about it, at least. “Actually, I think Manny from production is a Green Bay fan. I’m not—”

Harry cuts Louis off. “You’re so bloody annoying, do you realize this? You’ve got to be doing it on purpose. Just stop stealing my stuff, alright? It’s fucking annoying.”

With that, he gets up and walks away. When Harry starts taping for the show and the audience fills in and Louis gets bored of watching tapings, he sneaks into Harry’s dressing room and returns everything he’d previously taken — including the sweatshirt.

 

Harry comes to him again later that evening, after tapings wrapped up, finding Louis out back smoking a cigarette and reading up on today’s headlines.

“Thanks for putting my stuff back,” Harry says, shuffling his feet like he’s ashamed or something. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I’m sorry for taking your shit in the first place. I was… I don't even know what I was trying to do.” Louis wants to defend himself, but he doesn't know how. He could say that whenever he knows somebody doesn't like him, he acts like even more of an asshole toward said person, but he doesn't want to offset Harry anymore than he already has in the past three days.

“Hey,” Louis says suddenly, “you know we made headlines?” He clears his throat and reads aloud, “Harry Styles and mystery guy go out to lunch between _Late Late_ rehearsals. Could he be gearing up for a coming… a coming out?” Louis’ voice trails off horribly towards the end, shocked and intrigued by this new development.

He looks over at Harry curiously. Harry seems to know that Louis is waiting for some kind of clarification, so he starts talking right away. “The media has speculated for the longest time, and they're real dicks about it too. They’re dicks about everything, but especially who you’re dating or not dating. I don't know how they can speculate that I’m gay while at the same time profiling me as a womanizer, but… So, yeah, I’m gay. That headline is somewhat correct. Not exactly how I’d like it to be handled, but we can't control everything and I hate buying people out.”

The entire time Harry’s speaking, Louis’ heart starts to ache in a way he’s never quite felt before. That’s _awful,_ to put it in simple terms. To put it more complexly, Harry Styles is being put through hell and hardly anybody knows it. It’s a big thing, your sexuality, and Harry just confided that in Louis.

Louis realizes suddenly, when Harry’s expression goes from annoyed to worried,

that he hasn’t said anything in response to Harry’s admittance. “No, no! I’m–I don’t care, Harry,” he says. It comes out softer and more sincere than he intended for it to. Louis clears his throat. “So, what are we gonna do to combat the nasty media trolls who can’t leave your sexuality alone?”

“Nothing. I’m coming out soon, anyway. It doesn’t matter. They just might keep saying you’re dating me, but I’m sure you can handle that. Since you’re so good at handling everything else,” Harry shrugs, looking around the back lot.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry shrugs again. “I don’t know, whatever you think it does. Am I right with it?”

“I like to think I have pretty good self control. I’ve got a handle on things. I can handle them,” Louis admits, dropping his cigarette on the ground and stomping it out. He’s always seen himself as a pulled-together man, one with goals and desires and his head screwed on straight. Harry’s right, Louis is pretty damn good at handling things.

“You’re so cocky,” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I’d find it annoying if you weren’t so fucking… pretty.”

Louis arches his eyebrows. “Pretty, huh?”

“I find it hard to believe you don't find yourself outrageously handsome, especially with that massive ego of yours. Don't act modest. Take the compliment and get on with your evening.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

 

That night, Louis goes home and finds himself watching fucking _Love Actually_ , of all things, when his phone dings with a text message.

  **Jizzle Corden, 8:36pm:** _sending you harry’s phone number. need you to make sure he can come out on thursday. this is all for him, after all._

 Louis rolls his eyes at the text. Like, he knows he’s James’ assistant and all, but he really can't contact Harry Styles and confirm Thursday? Especially seeing as James and Harry are friends. He texts back: _Suppose so, boss man. get a little nervous texting celebrities, do you?_

James replies a second later, _just text him. no douchebaggery!!_

The phone number comes after a moment, but James doesn’t say anything else about it. Louis stares at it, realizing that this is Harry Styles’ phone number, and that his sisters would surely flip shit if they knew he had this in his possession. He texts Harry simply, _hey, it’s louis._ and leaves it at that.

Harry answers a few minutes later.

POPSTAR: _did James give you my number?_

LOUIS _: yup. i’ve been told make sure thursday night works for ur late late celebration. u up to come?_

Harry reads the message, but he doesn’t reply. The bubble signaling that he’s typing doesn’t come up either. Louis locks his phone and drops it back down on the couch next to him. If Harry Styles doesn’t want to come clubbing, he doesn’t have to come clubbing. Louis’ extended an olive branch -- several times, he’s pretty sure -- and it’s all a favor for James.

He can’t ignore the fact that Harry Styles has kind of strayed from the popstar reputation that Louis had been expecting from him; Louis was expecting the typical stuck-up, needy starlet that he always hears about in every article and from every person ever. Harry’s definitely exceeded expectations. He’s a bit stubborn, but only seems to be that way when he’s with Louis. Louis’ done a lot of watching Harry Styles, and he’s different with other people than he is with Louis. Then again, Louis is different with other people than he is with Harry. James said it was a _Harry and Louis Thing._ Louis didn’t stick around long enough to figure out what the hell that meant.

His phone dinging is what pulls Louis from his thoughts, Harry finally answering his text. _I’d love to, sounds like a blast._

Louis finds himself breathing a little sigh of relief. Harry easily  agreed to come, so now James can stop riding him about socializing with Harry and making him come to this stupid club outing.

  ********

On his last day on the Late Late show, Harry Styles needs to film his Carpool Karaoke segment. He’s being a pain about it.

“My voice is shot to _hell,_ I can’t fucking sing this song.”

“Harry, it’s _Sweet Creature._ I don’t think that it’s really that hard to sing, and I can’t sing for shit. Also, I’m pretty sure your voice is fine.”

“Louis, I’ve been singing my ass off for the past four and a half days. I wish we did Carpool on, like, Monday instead of today, I’d be in a _much_ better mood.”

“Styles, I’ll get you a fucking cup of Yorkshire and you’ll be good to go. C’mon, kid, quit complaining.”

“I don’t really like Yorkshire-”

“Christ. You’re drinking Yorkshire because that’s all James and I have stocked here. I’ll be right back with it.”

This past week, Harry hasn’t been the diva-ish star Louis was expecting. Leave it to all luck, hopes, and good things, to have everything fall apart on the last day. Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised nor disappointed. Louis ponders whether or not it was only a matter of time before Harry fell into what Louis expected, or if maybe this is just a bad day. He’s truly favoring the ‘bad day’ take on this one. Any other singer and Louis would’ve assumed it was only a matter of time before their facade fell.

Once the Yorkshire for the whining Harry Styles is ready, he takes it out to the back lot where Harry and James are discussing the karaoke session that’s about to take place. “Here, popstar. Drink this,” Louis instructs, handing Harry the tea.

“You’ll make Harry tea but you won’t make me tea?” James asks, acting scandalised.

“ _Please,”_ Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s my _job_ to make you tea. I don’t make or buy a cuppa without getting you one too.”

James nods, knowing he’s defeated on that front. “Well, let’s get you two in that car and get singing!” Louis says cheerily, looking between Harry and James. “No more arguing and no more complaining.”

“James, you know I love you, but I’m entirely glad this is the last day,” Harry says, sounding kind but shooting Louis a look that nearly makes him explode right on the spot. It’s a _I hate you and everything you’ve put me through_ glare.

James just laughs, says he’ll meet Harry in the car in a few minutes, and leaves Harry and Louis alone. “Well, popstar,” Louis says. “I’d take off that jacket, if I’m being honest with you. Not just because it’s ugly, but because you might want some more mobility when karaoking.”

“You really don’t like this jacket?” Harry frowns, looking down at it.

“I mean, you’ve worn worse.”

“You’re ridiculous. And mean.”

Louis forces the cup of tea back from Harry’s hands, winks, and pushes him in the direction of the car. Harry glances at Louis one final time before the car pulls away.

Louis finds himself killing time while Harry and James are gone by fixing the files on James’ desk; they’ve built up and become much more cluttered by the day. His phone rings suddenly, a text message coming through. Harry’s texted him, saying that he’s overly excited to come back.

He finds it confusing, the text message, he and Harry were just ripping into each other a moment ago but now Harry can’t wait to come back? _Coming back entails seeing me, you know, styles?_ he replies, trying his hardest to push off the confusion and keep up the banter.

Harry doesn’t reply for another ten minutes. _I’m aware :)_ is Harry’s answer. Louis immediately dials his sister Lottie. “Lots, I’ve got a situation. You’re good at understanding boys, aren’t you?”

“Hello to you too, brother. What can I help you with?”

“I’ve been getting to know Harry Styles.”

“Do Daisy and Pheebs know that? Jesus, Louis.” Lottie laughs, sounding truly shocked by this. Louis is just as surprised as she is. “What’s going on with Harry Styles?”

“It’s actually so stupid, I’m not sure why I’m calling you about it. But he’s, like, confusing me? He hates me, I’m entirely sure of that, but he still banters with me. It’s weird.”

“Lou, you’re calling me all flustered because I’ll bet you’ve got a crush on him, love.” Lottie says immediately. Louis thinks she’s been holding that answer in ever since she found out Louis was gay; she was just waiting for the opportunity to call him out on something. Except, she’s horribly wrong.

“Lottie. Are you kidding me? I’m not sure if you know this, clearly you don’t, but we’re completely different people. Harry Styles and I are not the same person. I do not have a _crush_ on him, Lottie. I think _he_ might have a crush on _me.”_

“I know you're an asshole to people, especially when you really can't stand the person, but for some reason I feel like you feel a bit guilty about being an asshole to Harry?”

“Lottie, how would you know that? You haven’t even been here. I haven’t even talked to you about Harry’s week here.”

“I saw you took him to Blaze. Everybody’s seen that one, I think.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Calling Lottie was a terrible, terrible idea. He tells her this, and she laughs. “You wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t feel something, Lou. You’re freaking out a little bit and that’s understandable. Just figure it out.”

After that, she hangs up. Louis sighs, dropping down in James’ desk chair and starting to spin in bored circles. He triple checks that everything for tomorrow night’s club is organized and ready. The unlimited alcohol will be nothing but flawless.

There’s hardly any reason for throwing this clubbing session, but Louis is going anyway. Louis is going because he loves getting drunk, and he’ll probably find someone there willing to share a joint and he’ll get so fucked up he doesn’t even remember it the next morning. Ideally, he won’t remember anything when he wakes up on Saturday morning. He won’t remember what he did, who he met, who he talked to. He’ll wipe away the entire night and hopefully the whole week with Harry Styles. He somehow knows that he’s not that lucky, though.

No, he’ll definitely remember Harry Styles. Harry Styles and his attitude and his stupid outfits and his voice and his puns and his salads. “Oh, fuck,” Louis mumbles, tipping his head back. “Lottie might be right.”

  ********

Louis always loses count after his third fruity drink and his fifth shot, in that order. After that it’s a blur of alcohol and dancing. He doesn’t slow down, especially not when a pretty boy shoves a beer in his hand and pulls him out on the dance floor. Actually, as he’s thinking about it, the boy might not be that attractive. Louis lets the boy grind against him, lets himself grind against the boy, without really thinking about it.

“Mind if I cut in?” someone yells, pushing the pretty-not-pretty boy away from Louis. The boy goes without a fight, letting the new person crowd himself up against Louis.

Louis grinds for just a second more on this new stranger before turning around to size up who he’s working with now. He nearly passes out (or maybe he’s just drunk) when Harry Styles is standing there. Harry places a shot glass in Louis’ hand, arches his eyebrows, and knocks back one of his own. He waits for Louis to do his own before placing them both on the tray of a server walking by.

“Popstar, what’re you doing here?” Louis asks, knowing he’s probably slurring his words but not caring enough to try to stop it.

“Saw that guy having a bit too much fun with you, had to come and see for myself how it was.”  

Louis smirks, his filter gone, as well as any apprehensions he had about Harry prior to this moment. He rocks his hips into Harry’s once, twice, watching Harry’s face drop as he does so. “You liked what you saw, popstar?”

“Mhm. Maybe a little,” Harry muses, finally placing both hands on Louis’ hips. “Spill your beer on me and wait’ll you see what happens.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, Styles? Because it didn't really sound like one.”

“You’re all talk you know that? It’s been that way all fucking week,” Harry tells him.

Louis arches his eyebrows, looking up at Harry Styles. He looks _gone,_ to say the least. Louis didn’t think someone as tightly wound as Harry would let loose like this; but at the same time, that makes sense. “I’ll show you all talk,” Louis finds himself almost growling, starting to kiss down Harry’s neck.

He’s wearing a blue shirt almost all the way unbuttoned -- only two buttons are closed -- so Louis takes his fingers and undoes the other two buttons, leaving Harry Styles against him with his blue shirt completely unbuttoned. Harry gasps, trying to redo them, but Louis pushes his hands away.

“You don’t want to show it off? Paps will love the pictures of you.” Louis says in his ear. “Harry Styles stumbles with his shirt already undone, from the club with pretty boy on his arm. You’d love that, popstar, wouldn’t you?”

“My manager would murder me,” Harry says lowly, leaning in closer to Louis’ face.

“Well, I don’t see him around right now. Wanna give me a bit of a show?” Louis smirks, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp and carelessly sliding the glass onto the nearest table.

They blast _Needed Me_ by Rihanna, to which Harry plants his ass against Louis’ hips and moves. Louis’ in awe of how beautiful he is, how effortless he’s moving to the song. Louis feels hot, from the drinking and the heat of the club and the dancing and now _Harry Styles,_ especially him, God.

“You’re breathtaking,” Louis says in Harry’s ear, kissing the back of Harry’s sweaty neck.

Harry turns around, facing Louis again. “I want to get out of here,” he yells in Louis’ ear. “I want to go home with you.”

Louis nods, grabbing Harry by the hand and pulling him towards the door. Or at least in what he thinks is the general direction of the door. What he _hopes_ is the general direction of the door. “Wait, wait,” Harry mumbles, stopping short. Louis turns around to look at him in the flashing lights of the club. “We can’t-we can’t go out this door. There’s paps out there. We’ve gotta go-go out the back. Have a car. Waiting for me.”

Harry grabs him then, leading him back through the club. Louis follows him willingly, blindly, without asking a second question about this secret way out and the secret car that’s waiting.

He vaguely hears himself telling Harry where he lives; he’s far too absorbed in Harry to focus on anything else.

  ********

Louis wakes up with a headache and not much recollection of what happened the night before. He rolls over, his leg brushing another warm body in the bed. Louis’ eyes open and he’s looking at a sleeping popstar in his bed. Harry Styles is sleeping peacefully in his bed. Louis takes one look at that sleeping face and bits and pieces of the night come flooding back to him.

Dancing, doing shots. Dancing with Harry. Leaving attached to Harry. Bringing him here. Kissing, so much kissing. Harry Styles falling apart on the sheets. “Shit,” Louis mutters, sitting up too quickly and making his head hurt and himself feel dizzy and nauseous all at the same time. He gets up, heading down the hall to the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror.

He looks as hungover as he feels.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Louis tells himself, turning the shower on.

He showers quickly, mindful that Harry Styles is asleep in his bed. Once he’s in clean clothes and has brushed his teeth and his hair and washed apparent body shots off of himself, takes an advil, and goes back into his bedroom. There’s clothes strewn about the floor and he’s pretty sure Harry’s naked underneath the blanket.

He’s still sound asleep. Louis starts picking stuff up, hoping to distract himself from the headache and the events that transpired the night before. He folds Harry’s jeans and blue shirt and puts them on the edge of the bed, also taking care to take out some clothes of his own that will fit Harry so he has something to wear.

When there’s nothing else to do in the bedroom, Louis goes out and puts on a pot of coffee. Coffee, not tea, because right now he’s dying and needs coffee. He turns the kitchen radio on, feeling slightly attacked when one of Harry’s songs starts playing. He turns the radio right off again.

Louis is having a hard time focusing knowing that Harry is sleeping in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, probably hungover. Louis usually doesn’t bring people home from clubs. His home is a sacred space and he doesn’t feel like sharing it with a stranger. But Harry’s here, Louis’ guard has been lowered just the slightest bit. Louis tries not to think about it, really tries not to think about Harry’s soft skin and soft breathing and soft skin. He’s up there right now, Louis could go touch him right now. He feels the slightest bit insane, thinking about Harry Styles in this way. Wanting someone so bright and beautiful is going to damn Louis.

Even when Harry comes into the kitchen, Louis’ thoughts hardly slow down.  

“Fuck,” is the first thing he says. He’s wearing the pants that Louis put out, but no shirt, and he looks extremely disheveled and tired. “We, um…”

“Yeah, seems like it. Want coffee?” Louis asks, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet and pouring the fresh coffee into them both. Harry takes one and takes a sip without waiting. “You don’t want anything in it?”

“No, I don’t really like it to begin with.”

“So you’ll just make the experience drinking coffee as miserable as possible by drinking it, but drinking it with no sugar or sweetener.” Louis says slowly. “That makes a lot of sense, popstar.”

“Thanks for letting me crash. Listen, I didn’t–”

“We don’t have to talk about it, Styles,” Louis says quickly. “It was a hookup. Sex. Tell me you’re capable of having a casual hookup.”

Harry looks at Louis like he just kicked a puppy. Louis has to look away. “What… what if I don’t want this to just be a casual hookup?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Louis spits, looking back at him. “You can’t stand me. You and I and literally everybody on the set know it.”

“Oh, I know. You drive me absolutely insane. But you have this pull on me, I just can’t stay away. You’re beautiful, I wanted to tell you that the moment you walked into my dressing room. I didn't, because you opened your mouth and immediately started spitting absolute bullshit and I couldn't believe that such a pretty boy with such a pretty mouth and accent was saying such rude things.”

Louis doesn't know how to handle himself. He doesn't know what to do, how to react, what to say, let alone if Harry’s telling the truth or not. He leans against the counter, bracing himself, trying to keep his head grounded.

“You make me feel like there’s no way I can possibly stand you, you’re so fucking annoying. But I still stand you, I still am. Louis, I don’t…” he trails off, voice breaking.

“Stop trying to explain yourself. I don’t think… I don’t think we can explain this. I don’t know if I want to explain this.” Louis admits, finding himself looking at Harry’s lips, his beautiful, beautiful lips. He abandons his coffee, launches forward and grabs Harry by the hips and kisses him. He throws caution to the wind and _kisses him._

Harry is shocked for a moment. That moment is truly terrifying, but then Harry’s kissing back. His lips are just as soft as Louis was imagining, just as soft as he remembers them being last night. Harry rakes a hand through Louis’ messy still-wet hair. “This is an awful idea,” Louis murmurs, pulling away and kissing down Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. Harry smells a bit like Louis, his sheets, maybe even Louis’ cologne.

“Are… are you wearing my cologne?” Louis asks softly, mouthing over where Harry’s pulse is hammering beneath his skin.

“I needed something. Just had a feeling you were gonna be _all_ over me when I came in here. Raided your stuff, sorry about that,” Harry explains himself messily, stupidly, but Louis can’t help but be pretty endeared by it.

“s’really okay.” Louis admits. “I like it better on you anyway, if I’m being honest.”

  ********

Louis Tomlinson is royally fucked. Both in the good way and the bad way. In the good way, he’s spent the entire day fucking and kissing and talking to Harry. In the bad way, this cannot possibly end well. He feels like he’s making a shaky decision, one clouded by lust and sex and impulse.

“I should wait until it’s later to sneak out of here. It’s easier that way, if you don’t mind keeping me for a little while longer,” Harry says, poking Louis’ thigh with his foot.

Louis doesn’t look up from his Cup Noodles. “I don’t mind,” he says softly.

Harry mutes the TV and tosses the remote onto the table. “What’s wrong?”

Louis shrugs, still not looking over at Harry. His mind is running at about a thousand miles per hour thinking about literally everything. Mainly about Harry. “Just thinking. And these noodles aren’t that good, so…”   
“That’s what you get for eating that kind of shit. It’s gross. Can I say something?” Harry asks. Louis nods. “I spent the whole day here, and it’s the most normal I’ve felt in a really long time. I didn’t have to worry about anything, I haven’t even checked my phone to see what the latest bullshit is. I’ve hardly even texted Jeff, he’s hardly even bothered me about leaving. This is the most normal I’ve felt since I stepped back into the spotlight.”

“Why’d you leave it and come back?” Louis asks suddenly. “Like, the band and everything.”

“I love the guys, I really do. But we came together by Simon Cowell and he put us through hell. We’re friends, really good friends. But eventually the band thing just felt… forced? And we all wanted to do our own thing and so now we are. I don’t know, there’s no bitterness or bad blood or anything. We’re all still talking.”

“Oh,” Louis nods. “That’s… that’s good.”

Harry looks at him curiously. “You look like you still have something to say. What is it? Whatever it is, you can ask it.”

“The sexuality thing. How did… what was that like?”

“I knew when I was fifteen that I didn’t like girls. It took me kissing one girl in year ten that I didn’t _think_ I liked them, then kissing one boy the next year to fully show me that I definitely liked boys. So when I tried out for _The X Factor,_ I knew I was gay. They wouldn’t let me come out because it would tarnish our selling point.”

“Four cute, straight, talented boys. Makes them seem more appealing to the female fanbase and makes it easier to sell.” Louis nods, understanding. He knows what the selling points are for artists; working with James has taught him quite a bit about PR. “So what’s changing now?”

“I’m with a new management company, I’m paving a new path. And I want to come out. I don’t want the shitty stunts and the fake girlfriends and the lying. I’m not running myself into the ground like Simon Cowell does with every artist he’s ever had closeted. I’m coming out.”

“You’re gonna say that you’re gay? Just… come out and say it?” Louis asks, and Harry shrugs. “What would you say differently?”

Harry shrugs again, stretching his legs over Louis’ lap. Louis can tell he’s trying his hardest to be open and comfortable and he’s honored and respectful of that; but if this were Louis confessing all of this, he’d only want to curl into himself, not spread out and put more of himself in Harry’s lap. Harry takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what else I could say. I really never felt the need to label who I am. I don’t like labels, it’s not important. I like who I like. I don’t feel the need to explain it. No one ever made me feel like not liking girls was a bad thing. I fall in love with whoever I fall in love with, and that’s it. At the end of the day that’s all that matters.”

Louis looks over at him finally, and is really glad he does. Harry doesn't look nervous, he looks completely calm and comfortable with his legs extended out over Louis’ lap and his eyes studying Louis intently, looking for any signs of mistrust or judgement. Louis must stare at him for too long (he can feel himself doing it, but does nothing to stop) because Harry’s expression begins to draw confused.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Louis shakes his head, disbelieving, almost. “You’re just… not what I expected, Harry Styles. I was seriously wrong about you and I feel like shit about it now.”

“Don’t. It’s okay, really. I didn't even think you had a problem with _me,_ I thought you just had a problem with… everyone.” Harry grins.

Louis rubs idly at Harry’s ankles, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. Self-conscious of this situation, of their position, of their conversation and the things they’re saying to each other (the things Harry’s openingly admitting). “I don’t. Not everyone. Obviously there’s select people that I can’t stand.”

“Can I ask you questions now?” Harry asks, leaning closer to Louis.

“I suppose so. It’s only fair, innit?” Louis replies, shrugging.

“How’d you end up here? In Los Angeles. With James, I mean.”

“Oh. Well, my mum was good friends with him and I knew what I wanted to do, so after I finished school I packed up and moved here. One suitcase and James’ phone number on the index card my mum wrote out before I left. Now I’m here all alone, but it’s working out alright.”

“Your family comes and visits though, right? Your mum?”

Louis swallows hard, nodding. “My sisters do. Got a boatload of sisters. But my mum… My mum actually passed away last year, so she obviously… obviously doesn’t come visit.”

“Oh, Louis,” Harry whispers, face dropping. “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

“How do you know if you don’t ask, right?” Louis smiles sadly. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m… I can talk about it, it’s fine. I’ve got five sisters and one brother. Two sets of twins. Got a great stepdad, God bless him. Tomlinson family tree is two parts complicated and one part fucked up, but we make it work pretty well.”

“I’m so sorry about your mum, Lou. That must be so hard for you.”

“I think it’d be hard for anyone. She was - as cheesy as it is - my best friend. That’s why I’m trying so hard here in LA, she got me this gig and I have to make her proud. I wanna be someone. James is gonna help me do that.”

“You’re a more complex person than you let on, you know that? I thought you were all cheap insults and miserableness.” Harry tells him, smiling widely. “You’re actually a great guy. Underneath all that miserableness.”

“Gee, thanks, Styles.”

“Do you think it’s bad that I don’t want to leave your apartment?” Harry asks, biting his lip. “Because I really, really don’t. Once I leave here I’ve got to go out into the real world.”

“Oh, the big bad popstar life!” Louis exclaims dramatically, draping himself over Harry’s legs. He sits up again, looking Harry in the face. “If you stay for a certain amount of time, you’ve gotta pay rent.”

Harry looks thrilled by this. Louis can’t decide if he’s being serious or not. “I’d pay rent. All the rent you want. Cash and kisses. And sex. And whatever else you could possibly want.”

“That makes me sound like a fuckin’ sugar baby,” Louis pushes Harry’s legs off of his lap in protest.

“I’d _much_ rather be the sugar baby.” Harry admits, shuffling over to Louis and pocketing himself against Louis’ side.

Louis laughs softly, looking down at Harry, who’s already looking up at him. “What does this mean?” he asks quietly, so quietly that he’s not sure Harry even hears him.

“What do you mean, what does this mean?”

“What do _you_ mean? Isn’t it self-explanatory? What is this? What’re we doing?” Louis elaborates as best he can. He doesn’t know how else to go about this topic. So he’ll dance around it. Beat around the bush.

“Since I was sixteen, I had everything laid out for me. All my decisions and how much money I’d get to make and get to spend and where I went and what I said. I was a puppet. I’ve been away from home for so long and they never let me dictate when I went back or how long I’d be there for. I want home. I don’t want them to control it. I don’t want that here, with you. Here with you it feels different. For once, I want to not have someone else make a decision for me. I want this with you, and I don't want any rules or expectations or rushing.”

That’s… that’s _perfect_ for Louis.

********

Louis finds Harry Styles in the spare-bedroom-turned-office at a quarter to midnight. “What’re you doing in here, popstar?” Louis asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Harry’s sitting in Louis’ desk chair, reading something intently. He looks up when Louis speaks, startled. “I didn’t know you wrote songs,” Harry says thoughtfully. “This is beautiful, Lou.”

Louis’ heart drops when he realizes Harry’s been reading his stuff. “Where’d you find that?”

“I was snooping, I’m sorry. Couldn’t fall asleep but didn’t want to leave, even though I probably should leave. Why didn’t you tell me that you wrote songs? Some of these are really good. You… shouldn’t be working under James, you should be writing songs for people.”

“I just do it for fun, H. It’s nothing serious, really.”

“These are piano notes, too. You play piano?” he asks, and Louis nods. “Do you have one?” he sounds endlessly excited. Louis thinks he sounds adorable.

“Haven’t used it in quite a while, but yeah, I’ve got one. It’s an electric one, covered up in the living–”

Before Louis can even finish, Harry’s on his feet and dragging Louis into the living room. Louis’ forced to uncover the old keyboard. “Where’d you get this?” Harry asks, watching Louis in awe as he sits down.

“I bought it at a yard sale when I first moved here. It cost fifty bucks that I couldn’t really spare at the time, but I really wanted it.”

“Why’s it covered now?”

Louis moves his fingers over the keyboard easily, even though he hasn’t played in so long. “When my mum got sick, I kind of just… stopped playing. Haven’t touched it since we lost her.”

Playing feels like he’s opening a door, one that he hasn’t opened since his mother died. One he slammed forcefully shut when he lost her and refused to ever open again; his musical door, which he’s now opening again because of Harry Styles.

Harry sits one of the songs that Louis started working on ages ago but never finished in front of Louis at the piano. “No pressure,” Harry whispers, sitting beside Louis and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Louis takes a deep breath, beginning to tap out the notes that only feel slightly foreign to him. Harry sits and listens to the notes and to Louis hum something of a melody under his breath, but otherwise says nothing. Louis stops when his past self had, mid-song.

“I’d love to hear you play some more one day. And I’d love to read more of what you wrote, but only when you’re ready.” Harry says sincerely. “Are you gonna kill me if I stay the night? Instead of leaving like I said I was going to?”

Louis shakes his head, staring hard at the notes scrawled on the paper in front of him. “As long as I get to wake up to you again in the morning.”

Harry grabs Louis by the chin and turns his face toward him, kissing him slowly. “Don’t take too long coming to bed. I don’t like sleeping alone.”

So he leaves, lets Louis sit alone at the piano. Even though he knows Harry’s probably waiting upstairs and they could probably fuck right now, Louis gets up and gets an already half-finished joint from the kitchen drawer and lights it, grabs a pencil and keeps playing notes on the piano. He keeps crafting the chords and humming.

“It’s alright, calling out for somebody to hold tonight…” he finds himself writing real, comprehensive lyrics before he even knows it. “When you’re lost, I’ll find the way, I’ll be your…” he trails off, taking another hit on the joint. “Light. Be your light.”

He writes it down quickly, making sure that the words don’t escape his mind. He takes another drag and continues writing. “You’ll never feel alone… you’ll never feel like _you’re alone._ I’ll… I’ll make this feel like home.”

Louis feels like he’s breakthrough with the lyrics of this song; whatever the fuck it may be about. He writes until it feels like it’s finished, he works on it until his fingers ache from playing the keys. He makes sure the joint is out before falling asleep on the couch.

 

He wakes up again to Harry standing over him with a cuppa. “Good morning, songwriter.” Harry says softly, brushing Louis’ hair from his face. “Couldn’t make it to the bed, could you?”

Louis groans, sitting up and taking the tea. “Thanks for this, popstar. I have something I want you to hear.”

This time it’s Louis dragging Harry toward the piano, playing what he composed last night and even singing the lyrics he wrote. He hasn’t sang since before he left England, but for whatever reason he’s opening his vocal cords for Harry Styles. Harry pays close attention, hanging onto every word Louis softly sings.

When Louis stops, he can’t bring himself to look at Harry. He’s embarrassed, as much as he hates to admit. “Louis,” Harry says, breathless. “This is… this is amazing. You’re… you’re amazing, Lou.”

Louis looks at him, knowing that his face is starting to flush and his smile is shy and unsure. “Harry, would you want to go out to lunch with me today?”

Harry grins. “I can have my assistant call-”

Louis shakes his head. “We’re not doing it like that, popstar. We’re going out to lunch like regular people.”  

Harry considers carefully. “I at least have to make sure that we won't get bothered. People are pretty ruthless most of the time.”

“Deal.”

 

Everything goes seamlessly. Louis finds himself looking at Harry - a _lot -_ and answering all of his questions honestly, not even telling a single little white lie over the course of the entire lunch. Louis drove them to the restaurant, so when they’re at lunch they make the mutual decision that Harry probably shouldn’t come back to Louis’ apartment, seeing as he’s got no clothes and he’s got famous person duties to attend to.

Louis gets to drive his shitty car all the way up Harry’s private driveway. It’s definitely the nicest driveway the car will ever see. When he parks in the roundabout at the top, Harry doesn’t get out of the car.

“I’m coming out on Monday, Louis,” he says softly, staring at the dashboard, at the window, at his feet - anywhere but at Louis. “I filmed an extra segment with James this week – that’s why you couldn’t find either of us for a while, we weren’t out to lunch, we were filming – and it was kind of a tell-all. It’s airing on Monday.”

“That’s fantastic, Harry. Why do you sound so nervous telling me this?” Louis asks. He really can’t figure out why Harry seems so hesitant in saying this; it seems to be good news. From what Louis’ learned about Harry in the past thirty six hours, it’s that this has been a long time coming.

“I know I told you that I wanted to take it slow. But I really like you, Louis, and I just… The second I come out it’s gonna be a whirlwind. And I know I said I got us in at lunch today without the fuss that normally comes, but that doesn't mean there wasn't paps lurking. They're always lurking no matter what. And the second that video airs on Monday they're gonna link you to me and… it’s a lot.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. He would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit concerned. Or nervous. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… my fans are ruthless. The media is ruthless. They’re going to say we're dating and they're going to poke and prod and leave no stone unturned and they'll probably find things out about you. How you know James, what play you put on in secondary school, how old you are, your social media accounts… everything. They’ll know about your mum…”

Louis exhales, shutting the car off so he doesn't waste precious gas. That’s terrifying, to say the least. Harry adds quickly, “I’d make sure my team does their best to protect you. And I won't let them use us to sell. They still do that sometimes, try to sell stories to magazines. But I won't let them. Not with you.”

“I know James because he worked on set with my mum. I played Danny Zuko in our production of _Grease_ – pretty poorly, might I add. I can still sing all the words to that movie, its one of my favorites of all time. I’m twenty five years old. I have a Twitter where I mainly tweet about _The Walking Dead_ and footie. I curse a lot on there. On Instagram it's more family oriented. My mum died last year, seventeen days before my twenty-fifth birthday – which is on Christmas Eve. She was battling leukemia for the entirety of 2016. I balanced time between working here and going home when she had really bad times. James was okay with it, he understood, actually encouraged me to go home more often and maybe even stay there. But I never did. I couldn't.”

Harry stays silent for a moment. Louis feels like he has something more to say; surely there’s more things he could tell Harry about himself. “Do you want to come inside, Louis?” he asks, opening the car door. “I just… I don’t want you to leave yet.”

They go into Harry’s house, which is vastly different than Louis’. Neither one of them notes the difference, not even Louis, in his passive sarcastic manner.  The afternoon finds them talking little but still enjoying each other's company. Harry convinces Louis to come in the shower with him and after that, they sit cross legged opposite each other on Harry’s big bed.

The french doors leading to a patio are open, letting a cool breeze flow through the room. “Why’d you tell me about how difficult it’d be when they made all those connections to me?” Louis asks finally. The question had been burning holes in his mind since they got here.

“Because, Louis. I like you. And… I don't want you to get scared when the headlines say you're dating me or whatever. And I don't know what your whole coming out situation is like–”

“I’m out. To everyone I know, I think. You don't have to worry about that,” Louis smiles.

Harry exhales. A sigh of relief, probably. “I really do like you, Lou. If you don't want this as much as I do then you should get out while you can. I’ll get you an NDA and we can be done.”

Louis ponders. He likes Harry, that's clear to him now. It became clear when he didn't want Harry to leave his apartment last night after they broke out the piano. Louis had spent an entire night and day with him at that point and had rather come to enjoy his company. When Harry took a shower at Louis’ place on Friday morning he found himself waiting only for Harry to come back out. He wanted to see Harry again and see him for as long as possible. Had this been any other one night stand, Louis wouldn't have stuck around this long.

“I like you, Haz. I do. I… I’m willing. To take the risk.”

“You’ll jump in?”

“This feels… _different_ for me. It’s hard to explain. I don't normally bring people home from clubs, Harry. That was, like, my thing. I went home _with_ people but never to my place. But with you, I feel like I wanted you there. I didn't mind taking you home with me. And I haven't stopped thinking about you, even when I’m with you and you're _right_ there. I want to keep being with you.”

Harry smiles, warm and big and bright. “You do?” Louis nods, exhaling heavily. “So. What are my fans and the media going to find out about you?”

Louis thinks for a moment. He’s been moderately well-behaved for the better part of his life. “They’ll find out about my mum. They’ll find out about how much of a die-hard Donny fan I am. I’m sure, if they’re as good as you say they are, they’ll find pictures of me when I was a teenager drinking, probably smoking.”

“Is that the worst damage you’ve done?” Harry asks, smiling.

Louis shrugs. “There’s probably been worse that I just can’t think of,” he admits.

Harry leans forward, closing the distance between them and kissing Louis slowly. “Can’t believe I hated you when I first met you,” Harry murmurs, biting gently at Louis’ bottom lip.

Louis laughs softly, running gentle fingertips idly over Harry’s collarbone. “I still kind of do, popstar.” Harry laughs out loud and shoves Louis away, back into the mattress, but quickly follows suit.

 

It’s another hour before Louis finally gets up from the bed and checks his phone while waiting for Harry to get dressed.

He’s got a text, one single text, from James.

 **Jizzle Corden, 3:13pm:** will you make it to work on monday? ;)

Louis rolls his eyes as he taps out a reply. _how do you know what’s happening?_

James’ reply is almost instant. _I have my ways. don’t hurt him, louis tomlinson._

Louis doesn’t reply to James’ text, but it’s unspoken that he wouldn’t dream of hurting Harry. “Hey,” Harry says suddenly. “Wanna go get drunk on the patio? We can make out, too, if just the idea of alcohol doesn’t appeal to you.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis says, somewhat breathless for a reason he’s not entirely sure of. “I’d love to get drunk on the patio with you.”

Harry absolutely beams, dimple popping and eyes bright green and entirely beautiful. Louis feels like a changed man, he thinks this while he’s sitting and drinking with Harry. And, sure, he’s a few drinks in but his thoughts still feel clear as day. At the beginning of the week he didn’t really have anything for him in LA besides his work. He was closed off and boring and a borderline alcoholic, in all honesty. Now after two days of spending quality time with Harry fucking Styles, Louis feels completely and utterly different.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, nudging Louis’ thigh with his foot. “You okay?”

Louis looks over at him, exhaling heavily. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you.”

“Yeah. A little drunk, but happy.”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes, “happy. Hey, Harry?”

Harry hums, looking at Louis curiously. The sun has begun falling lower in the sky and its painting Harry’s skin warm oranges and Louis thinks he looks absolutely stunning. “I didn't really hate the outfit you wore on that first day. Not _that_ much, anyway,” Louis admits, looking away.

Harry gets on his hands and knees, coming over and kissing Louis on the cheek. “I kind of figured. Noticed you staring at my arse all afternoon anyway.”

Louis winks, reaching for Harry’s bum. “Just couldn't help myself, I guess. Just promise me you won’t make me wear anything like the outfits you do, yeah?”

“No promises there, Louis Tomlinson. I’m gonna get you in the most complex, high-end shit I possibly can. I can paint your nails and we can be the most fashionable couple out there.”

“I’ll hold you to that, popstar.”  

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i know carpool karaoke was actually filmed at the beginning of the week but i don't wanna move it, so :p.  
> comments and kudos are always appreciated, thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> yell at me on twitter: allgonnamakeit_  
> holla at me on tumblr: alwaysbearound


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